A Very Great Hope
by Pale Treasures
Summary: Henry and Catherine Tilney's wishes for their son are slightly at odds - apparently. One shot.


**A Very Great Hope**

**Disclaimer: **It's all Jane Austen's! (except for the baby.) I'm just borrowing her characters.

**Rating: **K

**Author's Note: **While I was reading the novel and afterwards I envisioned Henry and Catherine's first child as being a girl, but I figured that, for the purposes of this story and given the time period, a son would make more sense.

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It is not every day that a heroine births her firstborn. Many expectations must understandably be linked to such an occasion; and no one could ever be capable of uttering that such a day was not the joyous and hopeful moment it indeed was.

The parents must be of a like mind; for no trace of cynicism or prudence previously existent in their natures can prevent them from indulging in the same dreamy, enthusiastic frame of mind shared by so many other parents before them – and which shall be shared, no doubt, by still a great many after them – where they fancy their child to be the best creature ever to bless this world with their arrival, a saviour of souls, possessor of a mind whose brilliancy and originality shall work wonders in due time. No future is too bright, no conjecture too impractical.

This heroine's romanticism, scarcely less subdued with marriage, could only flare eagerly to life with such a momentous event in her existence. And not even her husband, of a more sedate and dry temperament, and a penchant for laughing at the great events and ironies of life, could fully escape the peculiar effect parenthood exerted upon the human heart.

Thus, Henry and Catherine Tilney were, one month into their firstborn son's birth, still as much enchanted with him as any other parent, rich or poor, in their position. Catherine insisted on doing everything herself, in spite of a reasonably still unstable confidence and fear of the countless, mysterious ways she could harm her son with one single slip. Henry left such matters to be handled by those who undoubtedly knew best about them, content to watch from a distance, his infatuation of a quieter kind, rarely shown in its full power. He preferred to disguise it by gently laughing at his wife's until then utterly unknown propensity for worrying too much, her panic whenever their son hiccupped at an unexpected moment, and her unwillingness to leave him in the care of anyone who was not herself – or her mother.

Still, the atmosphere in their home was a happy one, the birth of their first child doing much to bring them even closer together and to close the little gaps that distanced their temperaments and understanding. One day, the two were to be found in the drawing room, blissfully – so our heroine's spouse secretly thought – without visitors or the expectation of any, on a fine spring afternoon, which bathed the parks round their house in warm and golden light. Little Henry – his father's namesake – had been brought down, such an irregular course of action much a shock to his nurse, whom Catherine happily dismissed. They were both staring at him with the soft delight that bathes all new parents' visages – something they are all quite unaware of, even the most sceptical ones, regardless of their many assurances to the contrary –, torn between touching one little hand or caressing one downy cheek and leaving him be, afraid to disturb him, yet unable to restrain the powerful emotion that overcame them.

"He is so very beautiful, is he not?" wondered Catherine in a rapt whisper. Motherhood had brought her bloom and all promises of beauty to completion; she would never become more beautiful, or look any more beautiful, than in the present moment of her existence.

"A handsome little fellow, if I ever saw one," her husband agreed, "although that is not saying much, for little creatures in this present stage of life can boast of many qualities – thoughtfulness, yes, for what else have they got to do all day?, passion, perhaps, given the way they are sometimes given to yelling so very much, a very commendable wielding of the virtue of patience, or the beginning of it, anyway, but beauty is not one of them."

Catherine gave him a half reproachful, half amused look.

"_I_ think he is beautiful; and I would have adored him either way, but I cannot help but be very glad that he takes after you and Eleanor. Had he been like my family, it would have been many years until we were able to call him beautiful – if at all." She reverently ran one finger down the baby's smooth cheek; the owner of said cheek yawned.

"I really do not think you will need to worry yourself on that account, my love; and, in any case, surely there must be greater things to worry about, if one _must_ worry. What has a man got to do with fretting over his own looks? Even the plainest of fellows commands my wholehearted respect if he goes about his business uncaring what others think of him on that score, including – and especially – the fairer sex which is so notoriously exacting and difficult to please."

"You are calling me vain!" reacted Catherine in indignation. "I am _not_ so; and certainly I think our son should not concern himself with his own looks. The right people will find him beautiful; and I cannot bear to think he might be the sort of man to use his beauty as advantage to manipulate a poor, unsuspecting, infatuated girl. I pray he never becomes anything like that. It would break my heart."

"So you would have him plain, but good-hearted, rather than handsome but calculating?"

"Certainly; a thousand times over."

Henry pondered this news very gravely, much to the bewilderment of Catherine; she knew him and his peculiar sense of humour quite well by now, but she could not help still being taken aback by some of his reactions, only afterwards reminding herself not to fully believe everything he said – or showed.

"Why are you so silent, Henry? Surely you must agree with me?"

Henry said nothing, still looking grave, almost regretful; Catherine's incomprehension increased. She watched him very fixedly, both troubled and suspicious.

"I think our son will be an insufferable bore."

"Henry!"

He was shaking his head, looking most pained. "An honest, staid gentleman provides no amusement at all; what stories, what wisdom can such a person convey? I would rather Henry experienced life to the fullest; if he breaks a few girls' hearts, and embarrasses himself once or twice, so be it. I'm sure I would not know how to talk to him otherwise."

"Henry, I cannot believe for a second you truly believe that," Catherine said, appalled. "You _must_ be teasing. The example of an honest yet good-humoured gentleman sits before me; I _know_ you are so, I've seen it often, and you do too, so don't try to find excuses; why cannot our son take after you in that respect? It makes a great deal of sense, and I greatly hope that it shall happen. In any case, I would much rather that he were honest than good-humoured. And if that cannot find favour with you, then, I am sorry for it, and that is that." She crossed her arms, still a little agitated and annoyed, for by now she really sensed that she was being teased most mercilessly, and turned her back on her husband, focusing on her son.

Silence fell over the room; only broken, by degrees, by Henry's very soft but quickly escalating laughter.

"You _were_ teasing!" Catherine exclaimed, turning round abruptly. "I _knew_ you were! How can you be so heartless, Henry, especially when I was so in earnest? You genuinely frightened me!"

Henry wiped a tear; at length, he conquered his mirth, and looked at his wife with greatly entertained but loving eyes.

"You should know better by now, Catherine, than to believe everything I say, _especially_ when I look in earnest. My dearest, it's as if you don't know me at all! There, now, don't be angry with me; let's forget everything I said. Of course you are right; of course I would want our son to be respectable and honest, even if he is humourless; of course I would be disappointed should his nature display any sign of malice or vice. You should never doubt it. And, God willing, we shall be able to guide him in the right direction."

Catherine looked a little more comforted.

"I think he will be a great man; perhaps, a very great one. If he takes after you, he must be very clever indeed, and I hope he shall use his wits to make the world a better place and all those who surround him – whether he loves them or not – happy.

Whatever it is that he chooses to do – and nothing, I pray, shall hamper his dreams –, whether grand or humble, he will do it well. I hope he helps those who need him and never turns his back on the ones who have offered him guidance, advice and affection. I could never recover if he neglected me one day." She stared down at the baby and her features momentarily darkened.

"Boys, and even girls, shall surpass the need for their mothers one day, but, if they were properly reared and loved, they shall never cease loving them and thinking of them," Henry said gently, looking at Catherine's saddened countenance. "And indeed, if the mothers ever want for aid, they will be there first."

Catherine smiled a little. "I hope so."

There was a pause; then, she resumed, looking at Henry with a curious smile, "I have expressed all my wishes for Henry; I hoped that he would be generous, and honest, and intelligent, and successful, and kind. But you have yet to seriously express your thoughts on the matter. Now, I ask _you_; what would you want our son to be like, when he grows up?"

Henry fell silent for a moment; he smiled softly, lost in thought. Then, his gaze cleared, he fixed it on little Henry, and then on herself.

"I am afraid I cannot mirror my wife's wishes; she so generously and devotedly sings my praises and hopes to see my virtues showered on our son; but I am not of the same mind. I think one of me is quite enough; I would rather that Henry takes after his mother, with her purity of heart, generosity and elasticity of spirit, simplicity, buoyancy and the capacity to see all these traits in _others_, rather than herself. That—if I had to voice any opinion at all on the subject—is what I would say."

Catherine stared at him, shocked and greatly touched, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"Oh, Henry...! I never knew you thought that; I never thought you would say such a thing! That is beautiful and so very kind of you; thank you." She remained seated for an instant; then, she bolted upwards, crossed the space between them in one stride and threw her arms around her husband's neck. And, since they were alone, and everyone knows propriety is allowed to be forgotten in the height of romantic occasions, especially when the heroine is praised such as ours was, she kissed him heartily.

"That is a very great reward for such meagre words," Henry remarked when she pulled back, smiling whilst attempting to regain his breath, "perhaps I will attempt to be glibber in the future, in order to be thus recompensed more often."

Catherine was about to rebuke him with a smile and a blush; but then, the baby began to fuss. She rushed to him and carefully picked him up, settling him safely in her arms and sitting down next to Henry. The two gazed tenderly at the infant.

"Above all," Henry whispered, all pride and humour forgotten, as he placed a gentle hand on his little namesake's head, "may he always be happy."

"Yes," Catherine echoed, the same wonder and love in her voice, "may he always be happy."

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**A/N nº2: **This didn't quite go the way I intended, and I'm not entirely sure I like the finished product. It turns out that Catherine and especially Henry are very difficult to write, even more so in humorous situations. Hopefully I did them justice. Now, is anyone else excited about the royal baby?


End file.
